A New World for Argus
by whitetiger91
Summary: When Argus Filch is sent away during the Second World War, he finds himself in Professor Kirke's country house, along with the Pevensie children. However, just like everyone else in his life, they belong to a world he doesn't.


**_This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 5, Bonus Round Four. _**

**_House/team: Gryffindor_**

**_Class subject: Defence Against the Dark Arts_**

**_Story category: Standard_**

**_Prompt: 2. [Crossover] Chronicles of Narnia (set at the end of 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' and before 'Prince Caspian' (movies—around a week after the Pevensies first leave Narnia))._**

**_Word count: 2499 words (Google docs)_**

**_Beta: White Eyebrow, secretfanficlover_**

**_Extra: 'The Macready' is intentional, as it's what Susan calls Mrs Macready. The timeline (historically, canon-wise, and age-wise) is loose. The coats Argus (sorry for another Filch war-time story) finds are what he later wears in canon at Hogwarts._**

* * *

**A New World for Argus**

Argus pressed his crooked nose against the cold window, staring out into the dark sky. With no lights twinkling inside any of the nearby houses, it made it easy to spot the golden lights of the planes flying overhead. They soared around, dropping large, metal pods upon London. He closed his eyes, listening to the wailing of the sirens as the ground shook. Although his father had cast protective enchantments around the house, he wouldn't mind if the bombs did hit them and took away his misery.

When his mother drew the velvet curtains closed, he sighed. "There's nothing else to do around here."

He glanced at his father, who was reading the _Daily Prophet_. For years, they'd spent evenings together, practising magic and preparing for his future at Hogwarts. However, when his letter hadn't arrived, his father realised there was no point in spending time together. Argus turned back to his mother.

She gave him a small, wavering smile. "I need you to pack your trunk. You'll be catching the train tomorrow."

His heart rose, and he searched her eyes for a sign that she was joking. When she simply smiled, he raced upstairs to pack.

He couldn't believe it; he was going to Hogwarts!

* * *

Argus clutched onto his trunk as his pale eyes roamed around the packed station. Soldiers in pristine uniforms marched past, their faces stoic, whilst teary-eyed women hugged their children.

The eleven-year-old turned to his parents. "Where's the Hogwarts Express?" he asked, noticing that a plain, brown train was sitting in place of the scarlet engine his father often spoke about.

Just like the other women around them, his mother's eyes were watery. She knelt and pinned a paper tag to his jacket; when he glanced down, he saw that his name, age, and some strange English town he'd never heard of was printed on it.

"You're not going to Hogwarts, dear, but to the countryside."

He wiggled out of her grasp. "What? But... I don't want to go!"

"It's what all the other children are doing. Besides, you'll be with an old family friend; he's a professor who's a—who's like you."

Argus stared at her, tears welling in his eyes. He knew exactly what she meant: it was what all the other _Muggle_ children were doing, and being a Squib, he was no different.

"I can come back when the war ends, can't I? Maybe even before?"

His mother dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Before she could reply, however, a loud whistle sounded, and the train lurched. Billowing smoke filled up the platform, stinging his eyes.

"All children aboard, please!"

His mother wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, letting go only when an attendant ushered him onto the train. Argus quickly found an empty compartment, dropped his trunk, and poked his head out the window.

His mother's face was hidden behind her handkerchief; like the other mothers, sobs wracked her body. As the train pulled out of the station, he saw that the only person not crying was his father.

Argus looked away, his face streaked with tears, and prayed that the war would end soon.

* * *

The professor's house was definitely not Hogwarts.

He'd only been there for a day, but Argus could already see it held nothing for him. It did have some things that his father had described about Hogwarts; there were suits of armour and many rooms to explore. There were no ghosts gliding through the walls, however, nor any cheeky poltergeists around that apparently made life at the castle fun.

Hogwarts probably didn't have a bossy old housekeeper, either.

"Feet off the chair," Mrs Macready snapped.

The brunette clearly didn't like children. From the moment the tight-bunned woman had picked him up in the buggy, she'd listed off a dozen rules: no running, no shouting, no disturbing the professor... She had no sympathy for his situation.

"No playing cricket, either," she said, peering out the parlour window and frowning. "I don't know why the professor allows it after last week's fiasco."

Muttering under her breath, she stormed out.

Argus looked out the window, spotting four children playing on the lawn. His mother had never mentioned Professor Kirke having any children; then again, she'd never mentioned that he was being sent away.

At least he wouldn't be alone until he returned home...

* * *

Apart from the morning he'd hoped his Hogwarts invitation would arrive, Argus couldn't remember feeling so nervous. The children in front of him all bore welcoming smiles, yet he couldn't seem to get his voice to work properly.

"I'm Peter Pevensie," the tallest boy said. His golden hair shone in the sun as he pointed to the others. "These are my sisters, Susan and Lucy, and younger brother, Edmund."

The dark-haired boy, who looked to be about the same age as Argus, scowled. "I'm not that much younger," he said, but he grinned at Argus. "Pleased to meet you. So, why are you here?"

"Edmund, don't be rude," the eldest girl, Susan, said.

"What? I'm just asking."

"I'm Argus Filch." His cheeks burned as he looked down at his shoes. "I wasn't allowed to go to Hogwarts. I'm a S-Squib," he said.

He peeked up at the children, expecting them to laugh at him, but they looked confused.

The youngest brunette, Lucy, tilted her head. "Hogwarts? Is that like Narn—Ouch!"

Before she could finish, Peter pinched her on the shoulder, and Susan shot her a warning look.

It was Argus' turn to feel confused. "Aren't you the professor's children? I know he's a Squib, but I thought you'd all be witches and wizards. It shouldn't really be passed on…"

The children shared funny looks. Edmund frowned and stepped forward, but Peter cleared his throat.

"Our father is away at war, so our mother sent us here," he said.

"Oh."

"When you say witch, do you mean an actual witch like, say, a turning-people-to-stone witch?" Edmund asked. There was no trace of a smile on his face anymore, and he seemed to grip the cricket bat he was holding tighter.

The tips of Argus' ears burned. How had he been so stupid? Of course these children were Muggles; whilst Lucy looked too young for Hogwarts, the other three should've been boarding at the school.

"Erm, no, not like that. More like wands and potions and… never mind."

"Oh, like in fairy tales?" Susan asked, and her shoulders relaxed. "Looks like the Macready is setting up lunch. We'd better wash up."

She and Peter smiled again, and headed towards the house. Mrs Macready had laid out some sandwiches just inside the open doors. Edmund looked Argus up and down, before jogging over to the table.

"I think you have a terrific imagination."

Turning back, he saw that Lucy was smiling up at him. He frowned, torn between telling her that his world was real, and not wanting to reveal any more of his sad truth.

"You know," Lucy whispered, glancing at her siblings before leaning in closer, "I'm not a witch, but I am a queen—Queen Lucy the Valiant."

This time, his cheeks burned not from embarrassment, but annoyance. Being a Squib was no laughing matter, and having a little girl trying to make it part of her pretend world was worse.

"Do you have centaurs, fauns, and talking beavers in your world, too?"

Argus narrowed his eyes. "It's not a game; don't mock me."

Lucy blinked. "But I'm not mocking you, Narnia is real—"

"I doubt it," he snarled, turning his back to her. "Just leave me alone."

"You know, you're very rude," she said.

Argus heard her stomp across the lawn. When he turned around, she was sitting at the table with Edmund. The boy looked up and glared at him, and he returned the gesture.

* * *

"Mother's safe; no word on when we can return, though."

"Oh well, that will give us more time to try getting into—"

"Shhh."

Argus was aware that the four siblings' eyes were on him, but he didn't care for their conversation. His attention was on the telegram in his own lap, which said the same thing. His parents were fine—of course they were; his father was an expert at shield charms—but were unsure when the Muggle war would end. He was glad they were okay, but it meant that he wasn't returning home anytime soon.

"I wonder how Mr Tumnus is?" Lucy said, only to receive more shushes.

Argus rolled his eyes. Since he'd met them the week before, they'd spent time huddled up together, whispering. He didn't know why the older siblings indulged Lucy in her make-believe nonsense; as soon as he'd found out he had no magical ability, his father had made it clear that there was no point in providing him false hope about things non-existent to him.

Curiosity got the better of him, however, and he blurted out, "Who's Mr Tumnus?"

Peter glared at Lucy before answering. "Oh, erm, just the Macready's cat."

Argus narrowed his eyes. "I thought that was Aslan?"

"Yes, well, she has two."

"I'm feeling pretty tired, aren't you?" Susan said, snapping her book shut. "Shall we retire?"

The other children stood up, emitting loud yawns and obnoxiously stretching their arms as they left the room. Lucy paused at the door, almost like she was about to apologise, but when he glared at her, she quickly followed.

Argus turned back to his letter. They could keep their stupid secrets. Soon, the war would be over, and he'd get to go home.

"Ahem."

He jumped; he'd thought he was alone. Glancing up, he saw a man with round glasses and a white goatee peering at him.

"Sorry, Professor Kirke, I'll head to bed—"

"You know, we're quite alike. I know what it's like being unable to access a world everyone else can," he said, smiling softly.

Argus huffed. "I get it, you're a Squib, too. Please don't start on how my life will get better."

The professor's dark eyes twinkled. "I wasn't going to. But, I will tell you this: learning from others is far better than missing out altogether."

He doubted it, but with the professor staring at him expectantly, he nodded.

* * *

Holding his breath, Argus peered around the corner. In the weeks he'd spent tailing the children, hoping to see what they were up to, he'd never got as far as he had now. They'd always managed to give him the slip, but with another telegram informing him he still couldn't go home, he was more determined than ever to succeed.

The four were huddled in a hallway on the upper floor. There was nowhere for them to hide; Argus had already checked the doors, all of which were locked, save for one room which only contained a wardrobe full of mouldy old coats.

Puffing, Peter looked around; Argus ducked out of sight. "I think we lost him."

"Can't he join us?" Lucy asked.

"I don't trust him. What if he's aligned with the White Witch? You saw the way he scoffed down all that Turkish delight last night."

Argus rolled his eyes at Edmund's comment. With all the war-time rationing, the sweets were the only delicious thing in the house.

"She's dead, in case you don't remember. But, I agree; we can't be too careful. Besides, it's not like we can get back anyway," Peter said.

Argus frowned. So, he wasn't good enough to play in a stupid Muggle game? He took a step forward, ready to spoil their fun, but the floorboards beneath his feet creaked.

"Shhh, what was that?" Susan asked.

"Argus? The Macready?"

Argus froze. The sound of scampering footsteps and doors closing met his ears. When he finally decided it was safe to poke his head back around, the hallway was empty.

His shoulders slumped. The professor was wrong; even if he did want to join in—which he didn't—he'd never be allowed to.

* * *

Argus crumpled the letter in his hand, disappointed but not surprised that he still couldn't go home.

His ears perked up at the sound of giggling from the room next door, and he focused instead on what he could do. He slipped from his room and tiptoed down the hallway.

"Aha! I've caught—where are you going?"

He paused in the doorway of the girls' room. Lucy's suitcase was open on her bed, full of clothes.

"Hi Argus," she said. "Mother sent us a telegram; the Blitz is over. All children are being sent home now."

"What?"

His heart skipped a beat. His mother had said the bombings were worse than ever, and that his father thought he ought to stay with the professor indefinitely…

He didn't realise his eyes had filled with tears until Lucy said, "I'm sorry… Your home wasn't destroyed, was it?"

The room began to spin. He shook his head, not capable of speaking. It all made sense now; his parents hadn't sent him away for his own safety. They'd sent him for the same reason they didn't want him back: he was a useless, good-for-nothing Squib and didn't belong in their world.

He swiped at his eyes. The tears still came, however, and soon, a white handkerchief was floating in front of his face.

"Th-thanks," he said, taking it from Lucy.

He didn't know why she was being so nice to him, yet she stood there, silently waiting. When he'd wiped away his tears, she grabbed his arm.

"I think I know what you need…"

He allowed her to pull him out of the room, down the hallway, and upstairs to the corridor with the locked rooms. They passed Edmund along the way, who glared at them suspiciously. Argus ducked his head, embarrassed that he was crying, but Lucy didn't stop. Only when they entered the room with the large, ornately-carved wardrobe did she speak again.

"Tada!" she said, opening the wardrobe door.

The pungent smell of mothballs burned his nostrils, and he frowned. "What? You want me to play dress-ups, now?"

Lucy giggled. "No, you have to go through the wardrobe," she said, pushing him inside it.

Inside, he could only feel fur coats and the hard backing of the wardrobe, and he turned back to her.

Her blue eyes were full of mischief. "You need this, and Narnia could do with a third Son of Adam."

The only thing he needed was to not be a Squib. Tears stung his eyes as he continued feeling the wardrobe. Suddenly, his hand fell through empty air, and he stumbled into a sunlit forest full of pine trees. He rubbed his eyes, sure he was being tricked.

When the forest was still there, he whipped back around, peering through the coats to the room beyond.

Lucy had gone, but he could hear her voice in the distance. "Now you can be whatever you want—wizard or King—for as long as you want."

Despite himself, Argus smiled, and turned back to the forest, ready to be part of a better world_._


End file.
